“It’s not even ten.”

“Let me rephrase: what are you doing out and about alone at this hour?”

“I’m fine.” I pull back my jacket so she can see my gun.

“Mmm, that’s not going to help, sugar. No one’s going to drag you into an alley for your wallet. Or for anything else. They’re just going to pester you, and I’d strongly suggest you don’t shoot them for that, as annoying as they might be.”

“I’m fine. No one’s bothered—”

“No one stopped you on your way here?”

A couple of guys had tried, but I say, “Not really.” Then, “Have you seen Diana? I’m supposed to have drinks with her tonight.”

“I wouldn’t count on her remembering. That girl has an active social life.” She steps closer and lowers her voice. “You might want to have a talk with her. I’m all for partying—clean partying. Not much else to do up here. But sometimes the freedom is a little too much. Your friend likes the booze and she likes the boys. That isn’t a safe combination.”

I’m about to say no, Isabel is misunderstanding the situation, but I know protesting won’t help, so I just nod. “I’ll talk to her. Thanks for the heads-up.”

I start to say goodnight, but she says, “You’re not walking home alone, Miss Casey. Yes, you don’t appreciate being treated like a girl in hoop skirts, and believe me, I’d be the last person to say a lady can’t take care of herself. But slow down. Let people get used to you. Until then, save yourself the hassle.” She leans into the Roc and shouts, “Mick!” and the bartender appears. She puts one hand on his burly bicep and says, “You’re going to walk Ms. Butler home.”

“It’s Casey, please,” I say. “And I don’t need—”

“You will escort Casey home. If she argues, walk two paces behind her. Unless she tries to shoot you.” She looks at me. “Please don’t shoot him.”

I smile. “I won’t.”

“And don’t worry about him, either. He’s perfectly safe. I keep him plenty occupied.” She winks at me and then smacks Mick’s ass and sends us on our way.

Mick isn’t a conversationalist. We don’t exchange a word until we reach my porch, and I say, “Thanks,” and he says, “Anytime,” then adds, “About your friend, Diana. She’s …” He shifts, looking uncomfortable. “She’s getting into some trouble.”

“So I heard. I’ll talk to her.”

“Isabel’s … Well, Isabel’s worried. She worries about all the new women in town, but in Diana’s case it’s moving fast into ‘pissed off.’ The best thing your friend can do is talk to her, if this is what she wants. It’d be safer that way.”

“Safer?”

“Just tell her to talk to Iz. Okay?”

I nod and say goodnight and go inside.

I barely make it into my place when there’s a tap-tap-tap at the door. It’s Diana, bouncing like a kid.

“Ready to go?”

I check my watch. “Doesn’t the bar close in an hour?”

“Sure,” she says, grinning. “That’s when we go have some real fun.”

I remember Isabel’s warning and say, carefully, “There’s a curfew for a reason. Everyone needs to be at work the next day. It’s not like home, where if we call in with a hangover, someone can cover for us.”

“God, you’ve been hanging around that sheriff too long already. I haven’t missed an hour of work yet. Now come on and let’s go get a drink.”

Three

We go to the other bar: the Red Lion. Apparently someone envisioned it as a quaint British pub, but that vision doesn’t extend beyond the name. The place looks like a set piece for a Western saloon. Wooden building. Wooden bar. Wooden chairs and tables.

Diana’s friends are … God, how do I say this without sounding like a total bitch? Her friends are exactly what Dalton said they were. They remind me of the kids Diana so desperately wanted to hang out with in high school.

In eleventh grade, the popular girls had invited Diana to eat lunch with them … an invitation that did not extend to me. I barely saw her for two weeks afterward. Then she showed up at my house crying, because it turned out all they wanted was to meet her cousin, who was an actor in a new TV show, and when she admitted she hadn’t seen him since a family reunion ten years earlier, they dumped her.

Yet despite my misgivings, I enjoy the next half-hour. Conversation is lively, if not exactly deep. And they have a sense of fun that’s infectious. They’re stuck in Rockton for a few years, and they aren’t providing essential services, so they can just cut loose and party, beholden to no one and nothing.

It’s just past ten-thirty and I’m talking to a woman named Petra. She’s a comic-book artist, which she jokes makes her all but useless in Rockton. We’re deep in conversation when Diana perks up beside me. She straightens her shirt and tucks her hair back, and I think, Huh, who’s the guy?

I look up to see Anders coming our way. He’s grinning, and Diana is practically vibrating in her seat. And I smile, because now I know she wasn’t pushing me in his direction—she was testing whether my gaze had already turned that way. When he catches her smile and returns it, I’m glad. I slide out, motion for him to take my place, and then sit in the empty seat on Petra’s other side. Anders pulls up a chair and plunks it down next to me.